Out of the darkness she heard the slither of the snake’s body over the forest floor.

Her throat had constricted to nothing, her mouth gaping. She felt the cold scales sliding over the skin of her leg where her habit had ridden up, felt the snake coil around her pulsing thigh. She tried to struggle but found she was trapped, paralyzed, her fingers twitching ineffectively. The poison had coursed through her like a dark rope, binding her to the ground. The snake’s black eyes flickered into focus, pinning her like a pair of daggers as it reached her rib cage, and its body reared up, heavy and cold as a chain. The corners of her vision began to fade again, a dull hum filling her ears. The snake’s mouth opened, revealing its wickedly sharp fangs to the dappled starlight, and Lena felt sure the last thing she’d see in this world was the way its eyes watched her coldly as she died.

She felt a flutter inside her chest. The scents surrounding her grew strangely intense and enveloped her senses—the damp dead leaves, the rotten undergrowth, the moss-padded stone. The musk of the night itself, a mushroomy softness breathing from the trees. The swirling, flickering cloud on the mountaintop—an electric, burning smell, like a summer storm.

Is this how it feels to die?

And suddenly a coldness spread from the center of her, up through her skin, tingling in her face and fingers and the soles of her feet. Rising. The grip on her loosened, falling away.

In a moment of pure confusion, she heard hurried footsteps, which stopped at her side.

Dreaming?

Darkness claimed her.

Lena felt a splash of water on her face and woke instantly, her eyes snapping open.

The man who crouched over her was young and dark skinned, with three silver scars running parallel across his face. She thought she should be frightened, but she was too bewildered. Between the yellow-red autumn trees over his head, Lena could see an indigo sky, washed with pink clouds.

It was dawn.

Despite her confusion, a part of her understood two things: she had survived, and she had escaped. Here, no cloud lingered between the trunks of the healthy trees—no flashes of sickly lightning, no grumbles of a monstrous creature in its sleep. The air was pure. Her throat, however, was dry and painful, and there was a strange, unpleasant taste in her mouth.

“What happened?” she croaked.

“Here.” The man’s voice was low as he offered her the flask in his hand. She glugged gratefully, cool water spilling down her chin. “You’re lucky I was nearby,” said the man, his accent unfamiliar—clipped and formal. “You might have defeated the serpent, but the poison would’ve killed you within the hour.”